You're My Only Home
by SpookedRabbits
Summary: Six months past Grima's destruction, Libra grieves his loss, fears for his future and seethes against the gods. Midwinter, early morning, a gust of cold draws Libra from his bed.


Six hours of writing to get this plotbunny out of my head and I listened to The Magnetic Field's "You're My Only Home" on loop. The whole time. I think it shows.

Unbeta'd.

* * *

Libra had dreamed of the day she would return. He did it secretly.

When the children, when his flock, when his comrades asked him if he thought she would return to them, he would smile cordially, tilt his head to the sky and say "if Naga truly believes she is to be with us, then the gods will provide."

Sometimes he even threw in a variation or two.

"Robin is a strong woman, and the gods have shown their favour before. I am sure they will bless us with her once again."

"Naga works in mysterious ways, my child."

"We can only pray that our Father above will deliver her quickly."

"I am sure she will be home soon, Elodie. Yes, my dear, very soon. Go practice your scales for Madame Maribelle."

He even started to _believe_ that a little. Believe that the gods would show mercy, would send his tactician, his friend, his lover, his _wife_ back to him. Eight months married, six of those she had been gone and he still couldn't stop rolling that word around in his head.

Wife. He had a family, lost it, gained a new and…hadn't lost this one. Had it _taken_ from him.

It wasn't fair. But then, who was he to rail against fairness? It was, a bitter part of him snarled, his very job to explain why life wasn't fair. The will of the gods. Humanity is imperfect. They're testing us.

He was quite finished with being tested. He felt he had far surpassed expectations. It was, he gnashed inside, time he was rewarded.

Then the familiar fear would set in, that he had failed a final test and Robin was taken from him because he was terrible, he was unworthy of the gods.

Deep down, down in the hollow little place his faith would never touch, never fill, never light, he knew the gods would have very little say over whether Robin returned or not. She had been linked to a god, been the destined vessel for its will – she had slain that very god.

And Chrom had been so strange about it, too. Describe it so vaguely to them, Robin lost in the smoke and magical fallout as Grima crumbled. He spoke of her bravery, her sacrifice. But it was only to Libra he relayed what he had really seen.

He had found Libra sitting at the edge of the fire, his head high and nothing but serenity on his face. Libra's eyes hadn't flickered from their Shepherds, their laughter and reminiscing echoing out to them. It was slightly distorted, as though an aura surrounded Libra that the joy couldn't quite penetrate.

"She was crying, you know." The words jerked at Libra like puppet strings. "When she…when she dealt the final blow. She knelt down next to Grima, held her – his - her face and she…was weeping. I couldn't hear what she said in the end." Chrom stared straight at the ground. "I tried to stop her. But…she stroked Grima's face, and…" Chrom's words left him then, and the two men sat silently at the cusp of the firelight. Chrom's cheeks shone, his shoulders trembled, but he made no sound.

Libra did not answer, did not comfort him, and did not move his gaze.

Because if Robin wanted to return, she would. She had permanently destroyed a god. Oh yes, there were special circumstances, a connection to his faith's immortal enemy that made it possible. But what god would take their chances? Robin was a focused, controlled tactician and a meticulous combatant. Libra himself had only seen her lose her temper on the battlefield twice, once from a distance and once up close, when she had been defending his life.

Her capacity for destruction was immeasurable.

So it came down to how much she wanted to come back. That was what struck him hard, sent ice slithering down into his stomach and dark stars splashing across his vision. The fear, the horror that she may choose not to return, that their bonds truly weren't strong enough and she would move on away from her friends, her family, from him…

The first time the thought had occurred to him it hadn't yet been five minutes since Chrom made the announcement, and it had sent Libra sagging against Minerva, his knees no longer able to support him.

Gods – no, anyone else but them, but it made him _sick_. What else could he have done? Could he have spent more time with her? Another word of love, of devotion? Should she have spent more time with the Shepherds? Perhaps she truly should have married Chrom, and that would have brought her back? Libra always wondered if he stood in the way of some true and mighty love, a union to sear across the pages of history.

Should he have given more of himself to her? He tormented himself with the thought and got a twisted sense of relief from it. The idea it would have taken one more declaration, one more gift, one more line in their vows to one another…it was stupid and grounded in nonsense but for Libra…

…it made sense. Any explanation would do. Because it had been six months and part of him had expected her back by now.

* * *

The other Shepherds had wanted explanations too.

It was eerily similar to when Emmeryn had passed. Maribelle came for tea and stayed for hours, making small talk and resolutely dabbing at her eyes the whole time. Lissa sobbed and screamed, then declared that she didn't know what she was crying for because _obviously_ Robin would come home, and then started up all over again. Sully absolutely _thrashed_ him when they sparred.

Virion would come in, all charm and chivalry, set up his game board…and leave it there for the whole time they spoke of nothing important, occasionally picking up and toying with a piece.

Emmeryn sat with him and read through the letters Robin had meticulously written out for her to practice. In the end she had provided Libra with more comfort than what he could give her, occasionally patting his hand and telling him how kind Robin had been to her.

Tharja stopped him every hour at the same time, even waking him up occasionally, to ask if he'd seen Robin. He finally managed to get her to stop when he pointed out that if anyone knew where Robin was, it would be Tharja. The girl had looked pensive – it appeared to be cold comfort.

They all came at some point. Even the future children.

Severa kicked everything in his tent and burst into tears, shouting about how much of an _idiot_ Robin was to get herself killed like that. Libra had hastened to remind her Robin was not dead, just…gone for a while. Oddly, that seemed to give her hope.

Noire sat on the bed and fiddled with the blankets, occasionally asking if there was anything of Robin's she could mend. Libra thought this strange, but rationed out Robin's clothing accordingly.

Morgan was the worst of it all, though. He hadn't come to Libra at all and honestly, Libra dreaded sitting with him. He knew it to be cowardly, to not want to comfort his own son. But it was several days before he tracked down Morgan, and the child was just that. His hands pressed against his eyes to try stem the flow of tears, unable to speak around the tightness in his chest. Libra had held him for hours while Morgan burbled and begged and then wept incoherently. He had lost his mother before, he croaked at one point. Why did he have to lose her again?

Libra asked himself a similar question.

The all, eventually asked similar questions. Because unlike Emmeryn, whose death was terrible but could be avenged and explained (and was, in the end, mistaken), there was no mortal reason for Robin's departure. Emmeryn had been forced to face her death by a madman; Robin had chosen it to prevent a god from continuing his eons old quest to conquer the world.

It was a fair exchange, really. The life of one brilliant, courageous, vibrant woman for the permanent eradication of a catastrophic threat.

That was Miriel. Reciting her logical opinion of the matter, dry eyed and poised face, with her hands shaking so hard she couldn't hold her teacup.

* * *

The return was hard. Word had spread ahead of them and there was a parade waiting for them when they got back. Libra had fearfully searched the crowd for his children, his little orphans, but spied no sign of them. Word had reached them too, of the Shepherd's victory…and their surrogate mother's sacrifice.

They were waiting for him at home. Libra had Morgan with him, at least. He couldn't have faced them otherwise.

Karin had taken it worst of all. The other children still firmly believed she would return, and were mostly irritated it was taking so long.

But Karin was Robin's girl. Libra had rescued her but Robin had unlocked her, and the peasant girl made apprentice blamed Libra – just a little, a fraction, not that she would ever admit it even under pain of death – for Robin's disappearance. For not saving her, for not dealing the blow - for not…not bringing her back home.

And now it was still six months later and his thoughts of Robin had changed.

He knew Chrom and Lissa would find her. Knew that Lissa had another parade, another festival planned down to last detail. Imagined how he would receive word from someone, on an average day. Occasionally it was Cordelia on her Pegasus, sometimes Morgan flying up the front path, even Lon'qu stalking in and dragging him off to the palace. He would be taken, half-hoping and half-puzzled, to the throne room. To the garden. To the highest tower.

She would be there, turned away from him. Talking to Chrom. Shouting at Nah to _put_ Inigo _down_ this _instant_. Just staring out over the city, the wind tousling her long, milky hair.

And then she would turn, sensing his presence. He would be rooted to the spot, and she would smile at him. Her face clear, light-hearted, like she had just returned from a long, boring journey.

They would embrace, and then –

Libra didn't have an answer for what would happen after that. They would go back to her house – no, their home? She would hug each child in turn, declare they had all grown tremendously in her absence and that she hoped they were all keeping up with their studies?

One of his favourites was the reunion of Karin and Robin. They would be cool, professional. Robin would ask if she had improved her reading and writing. Karin would answer yes, and that Morgan had given her a book on remedial tactics. And they would both know that Karin had been studying so fiercely that letters, words, numbers were all but engraved on her brain. Robin would praise her, and Karin would struggle not to look as though she'd died and gone to heaven.

Karin would say she had prepared tea. Robin would ask if it was her favourite tea. Morgan would say, of course, Mother, what other tea would Karin prepare? Robin would say yes, it was just she wanted the tea she liked and not the other tea.

Libra would interject and say, in the tone of someone who had to explain this many times before, that Karin only ever prepared the one type of tea.

It was a blissful few minutes of unfettered, ungrounded fantasizing.

* * *

It was only six months since Robin had left his life so suddenly he still felt her absence like a great hole in his torso, shearing away a huge part of his soul, leaving it wounded and vulnerable to the elements. And like the other nights, Libra lay awake, lay in the middle of their too large, too cold bed and waited for sleep. Some nights it would be merciful, and bring sweet dreams. Some nights it would be merciful, and keep him awake to hold the nightmares at bay.

Perhaps tonight would be the latter. He had already watched the exquisite bronze clock by their bedside tick past two o'clock in the morning.

The lead up to the winter solstice was bitter – though they had won the war it had come at great cost. Many citizens left destitute and homeless, bandit hordes swelling in number by the day, a weak harvest and their neighbours in no real state to assist…

Once again it was Plegia who came to their aid. Their new head of state was a regal, ex-military woman in her mid-thirties who'd wasted no time in telling Chrom she'd 'had it up to the eyeballs with all these wars in one place or another, and if we can't match you in military prowess we can damn well crush you in every other way'. She stayed true to her word – Plegia's economic and cultural growth was phenomenal.

Libra thought Robin would have liked her. He had liked being in Plegia – the people there were so hospitable, so eager to meet new people and hear their stories. Libra had, to his immeasurable guilt, rather forgotten that not everyone in Plegia was a frothing-at-the-mouth Grimleal follower.

He wished for that heat now. During the day, the cold was merely biting. At night it dropped to unbearable temperatures, his breath misting the air clearly in front of his face. The cold froze the clouds and sent them dropping from the sky, so the moon was unimpeded in her inspection of the city.

His door shuddered, and the slightest chill nipped his cheek.

His feet hit the freezing cold floor without a sound.

From the bedside table he pulled a small yet beautifully sharp dagger.

He automatically stepped around the floorboards which would creak, would give away his position, a trick he had learned when busting the younger children for being out of bed past lights out.

He had spent enough nights prowling the hallway - ensuring each child was warm enough, safe enough – to know each crack and hollow where the wind could slip through. The wind sharpened against the cold until it lacerated straight through to the bone; even indoors they had to rug up against the cold.

This particular gust was the result of someone opening and closing a door very quickly and efficiently.

Libra melded into the shadows, keeping his breathing timed with his footsteps and keeping fluid. Robin had taught him how to think like a wall, a curtain, anything ordinary and therefore usually ignored by the populace. It was amazing what people just skimmed over when they walked into a room.

When Libra moved, silent and graceful, he was like a shadow flickering along the wall. When he stopped, he almost disappeared altogether.

Libra spent a few precious seconds checking each bedroom before moving on. The youngest - Niida, Hannelore and Yoi'An - closest to their bedroom in case they needed anything. Morwenna, Elodie and Sela on the left. Asra and Desmond on the right across from them. Morgan second to last in the last guestroom. Karin in her own room at the end of the hall, perfectly situated to listen for mischievous children out of bed.

She didn't even stir as Libra quietly closed her door, satisfied with her safety.

That meant the intruder was downstairs.

Libra took them two at a time, crouching at the bottom to listen for any movement.

Nothing.

He took his time working around the corners; despite his efforts to remain calm, his heart pounded and his grip on the dagger was compromised by his palms breaking out in a cold sweat.

In the end, it was not hard to locate the trespasser. They had kindly lit a lamp in the kitchen to alert him to their presence.

Libra found this to be most galling. It was one of Robin's new lamps – a rose-green lantern with the new oil mechanism installed, designed to give off a cleaner, brighter light. She had loved the colour, the delicate wrought iron filigree but hadn't had a chance to use it before they left for another war.

None of them had touched it since Libra's return. The thought of some stranger handling it, even one desperate to get out of the cold, set Libra's heart boiling with vile anger. He stalked forward, intent on giving them a piece of his mind and perhaps just a few new holes when he…stopped.

Right at the edge of the light spilling from the open doorway. Stared, unseeing, down the dark hallway, at the familiar objects outlined, dark grey shadows against thin, icy moonlight. The lantern light cut straight through it all, a golden pathway through snow.

Libra knew then.

He knew, in a way he truly could never describe, and would never be able to put words to for the rest of his days.

He hadn't felt this way since he first saw the grand cathedral in the city centre. The sensation of absolute surety in his actions, of his place in the world. Knowing there was a higher power at work, benevolent and true.

A tear trickled, unbidden, down his cheek, and suddenly his vision blurred and swam. Still, he didn't move.

He may as well have been frozen to the spot. His heart sang yes, yes, step forward, cross the rim, see for yourself.

Another part of him, swirling in the deep, bruised portion of his soul shuddered at the thought.

If it were not true…

If he was once against fooling himself, playing into wishful thinking so completely he had started to lose his mind…

Libra wasn't certain he could handle it, if he walked into an empty kitchen, nothing but a forgotten lamp and unlatched door to greet him.

In the end, though, the decision was made for him.

"Why don't you come out, then?" a voice called. A gasp, raw and grieving, tore itself from Libra's throat. It was – it sounded like –

Stepped into that light and around the doorframe was the hardest thing Libra had done in his life.

He did consider running away. Back to bed, back to gnawing loneliness and every regret his mind could conjure up. But it was better than facing the possibility he really was mad, that he was hearing things…

"Libra?"

Libra realized he had stepped forward and his eyes had fallen closed. He felt…movement, in front of his, the faintest whisper of a breath.

A scent hit his nostrils, and he couldn't stop a tiny sob, meek and remorseful, from slipping out. His shoulders shuddered, his head bent until his chin met his chest and his hair fell over his face.

The presence moved closer. He held out his hand to halt it, wondering if it were possible to do so with a ghost.

"No." His voice was raspy, not his at all. "Please, I-I-I need…Please wait. Just stay there, if you're really there please stay."

The presence obliged.

Libra held off breathing for as long as he could stand it, then inhaled as deeply as he could.

His senses were _flooded_ with her scent.

Earth, wet earth after a long rain; spices, foreign and familiar; grass; her own tea, the special blend she favoured; the acetic tang of lightning and just a hint of ash; the perfume he had given her, so long ago, as an early birthday present; Plegian incense; the twinkling, fresh smell of snow…

"You're crying." He was. As much as he squeezed his eyes against it the tears slipped faster down his face, dropping off his jaw and freezing when they hit the floor. His hands clenched so tightly he could feel his nails drawing blood and he felt like his spine would snap under the tension in his back.

"Are…" Libra couldn't finish. Not now. Not when the answer might be too much. "Are…you – "He couldn't do it, couldn't ask! A huge cry lodged in his throat and cut off his next words.

The presence seemed to know. Like it always knew. "I am real. As real as I'll ever get. I am more real now than I ever have been, Libra."

Libra felt the heat before he felt the touch. Radiant, familiar heat, of someone who naturally burned like a furnace even on a bitter midwinter night like this. It was part of the reason his bed was so cold.

Fingertips brushed his skin, either side of his nose, ever so hesitantly, as one treats a wild animal on the cusp of fleeing. His breath shuddered in and sobbed out again, his heart beating so frantically Libra did wonder if he would survive long enough to open his eyes…

The fingers slid out over his cheeks, caressing away each tear as it flowed. It was not admonishing not asking him to stop – he could not stop. Too much pain, too much fear, too much guilt had built up for anything to stop this. The fingers moved past his cheeks, combed tenderly through his hair, and now Libra did stagger forward.

He was caught, as he half knew he would. Held against a strong, familiar chest, in which thrummed a familiar, lively heartbeat. Held aloft as his legs gave out and he allowed himself to sag. Now his arms came up and around this presence, this woman in front of him, and he buried his face in her soft, familiar hair and cried into her neck.

* * *

He wept for what could have been minutes or hours. There was only himself, the woman, her long-missed touch and his sorrow pouring out against her. He cried, grasped at her shirt, pressed his forehead into her shoulder until at long last he cried himself empty.

At some point she had sunk to the floor, keeping him pulled across her lap to spare him from cold stone

He could feel tears that weren't his, dropping as softly as starlight, into the fabric of his sleeping shirt.

"I'm sorry," the presence breathed into his ear. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Libra. I was gone so long; they wouldn't let me leave…" He held her tighter, unwilling to open his eyes just yet.

"I want to see you," he whispered, his voice scratchy and worn. Libra cleared his throat and tried again. "I want...gods above, you're really _here_ , aren't you?"

"I am."

Libra raised his head, cracking his eyes open to let them adjust. If this was real, and not some mad dream, he would be damned if that lantern half-blinded him when he got his first glimpse of –

His eyes slowly opened. Robin's face, unchanged, solemn and a little tear-streaked, filled his vision.

Libra swallowed. "You're really here."

"I'm really here."

"You're home."

"Very much so."

"I thought you'd be with Chrom, return with them?"

"I ditched that loser back in the field."

Libra ran his hands over her slim shoulders, unwilling and unable to tear his eyes from her longed-for face. "That's no way to speak of your Exalt, Robin."

"Pah, fine. I did not ditch him in the field. I was, as a matter of fact, very glad to see him." Libra nodded.

"I did, however," Robin added, thoughtfully twisting a lock of his hair between her fingers, "leave him at an inn a few miles down the road." She noticed his look. "What, I left a note! And Lissa knew. I pushed us pretty hard to get home and they needed a rest. I was doing them a favour, really."

"What about you?" Libra asked softly, noticing for the first time her wind-scoured cheeks and snowflakes still melting in her hair.

"I had more important things on my mind." Robin smiled at him, the special smile she reserved only for him, and Libra felt his heart thump almost painfully again. This time, it was with a measure of joy. "I just said I was continuing my journey and I would see them sometime next week."

Something occurred to Libra. "How did you get here? The roads have to be cleared every day."

Robin flexed her fingers against his back and sent a pleasant shiver running up and down his spine. Now that the initial shock was slowly wearing off, his body was acutely aware this was the first time he'd been close to his wife for several months. "I just…worked a little something. Touch of fire, bit of wind." Libra raised a fine eyebrow. She sighed. "I melted a pathway to the city and manipulated the wind so it wouldn't slow me down too much as I rode." Good grief. Only Robin could have so fine a control over two elements. When Robin really set her mind to something you could consider it done. It was a better announcement of her return than even a parade could manage.

A chuckle slipped out from Libra, and the shock must have shown on his face. When was the last time he had laughed, truly?

"Libra, my darling, how are you feeling?" she asked gently, stroking his cheek again. Libra let his eyes fluttered closed at her touch, finally convinced she wouldn't disappeared if he stopped looking at her.

"I dreamed so vividly of the day you would come back," he murmured, shifting slightly in her embrace. They had sprawled, Robin's back up against a sturdy table leg for support, Libra still half-collapsed in her arms. He usually didn't like being the fainting damsel, but he figured in this case an exception could be made. Especially since any other option would involve Robin moving and there was no way he would allow that. "I pictured it in every way, but…"

"You didn't expect this?" Robin finished, amused.

"No," he admitted. "I thought…I'd see you at the palace. Or…somewhere. I didn't think you'd…" He paused, slightly ashamed of himself. "I…didn't think you'd come to me."

Robin gave him a gentle flick on the nose – an admonishing, playful gesture she habitually performed whenever she thought he was being purely foolish. Far from being hurt, Libra felt another rush of bliss at the act. How quickly the fell back into rhythm with one another, how fast their old habits rushed back! He felt tears prick again, but this time held them back.

"You were the first person I thought of when I woke up," Robin said in a hushed tone. "Which is nothing new, truly. I was so happy to see Chrom and Lissa again, but I wondered where you were. They found me three days ago, and each night I thought of you, and wished to be home. I looked for you every day." She laughed, ever so slightly embarrassed. "I-I rather hoped I'd see you looking for me. Or out answering the summons of someone. Anything to throw you in my path."

Libra felt his cheeks burn, shamed at apparently disappointing her. "I'm – I'm sorry, I joined the earlier searches but the children here – "

Robin shushed him by making a kitten-like noise of contentment and nuzzling his neck. The graze of her lips was not accidental and it sent a lance of electricity down Libra's spine. "I knew exactly where to find you."

Libra cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking the silky skin along her cheekbones. He hadn't noticed before, in the initial rush of disbelief and primal hope, but she looked…a little different. He had expected her to look exactly the same, but there was grief in her eyes; the lifelong grief of a lost loved one. His gaze dropped to her hand – the marked hand – and found the livid purple mark quite faded. Still, a faint silvery scar remained, an exact replica of her burden etched in moonlight.

Libra felt sorrow gripe his heart. Robin would never truly be free of Grima. She followed his gaze to her hand and lightly flexed her fingers, making the pale eyes glimmer and dance.

"And how are you feeling?" he asked quietly. Robin shrugged, smiling tightly.

"I've…I'm…" she struggled for a few seconds, opening and closing her mouth as she searched for the words. "I'm sorry. I just…From what I remember, I disappeared only three days ago. But it's been six months, I'm so far behind again!" Robin pressed close to him, like a small child seeking comfort. "I'm glad I'm here with you."

Libra embraced her willingly, sliding his hands from her face to her shoulders. "I'm glad you came to me."

Robin looked at him seriously then. "I was always going to come to you first. I would have left Chrom and Lissa at the gate and run all the way here if it meant seeing you a second earlier."

"And look, already setting a new record for being early," Libra commented, his eyes flickering to the kitchen clock. Two thirty in the morning. Robin scrunched up her face and stuck out her tongue.

"Bergh! You! Back to your sassy self already, I see," she grumbled playfully. "And here I was, making tea for you and being all housewifely."

Libra sat up slightly, already regretting the gust of cold air which rushed the gap between their bodies. "You were making me tea? Why?"

Robin grinned and propped herself up a little more. "I was going to surprise you in bed. Should have figured you'd sense someone in at an odd hour."

"Colour me surprised." Libra was overcome with the overwhelming urge to be close to her again, an urge he had been unable to fulfill for what felt like an eternity. He slithered closer to her, their eyes locked – Robin's had darkened to molten chocolate, and a light flush rose in her cheeks.

Libra wondered what he looked like.

He hovered mere centimeters away from her, Robin's breath puffing against his face and setting his nerves alight. Gods, had it really been that long? Two months was not nearly long enough for the edge to be taken off his desire for her, and with an absence of six his mind was quickly focusing down to the one point in the room that really mattered.

Her pink tongue darted out and wetted her lips. Libra swallowed audibly, his breath shortening and his hands coming to rest on her thighs, another shiver of electricity shooting through him as he touch bare, warm skin. He'd quite forgotten her Grandmaster's ensemble featured a short skirt. She had discarded the armour but left the soft protective fabric underneath and Libra was quite, quite sure he'd never be able to look at it the same way again.

The kiss was gentle at first, a light pressing of lips working perfectly against one another. Even with this, Libra felt a half-muffled groan rise in his chest as heat sang through him, pooling low and fast in his gut.

Robin's hands reached out and grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer to deepen their contact. Libra was able to have one more coherent thought, which was they should probably get off the floor, before he felt her tongue flicker against his mouth. His lips parted, and as her tongue touched against his he was lost to her once again

Libra crushed Robin to his chest and rolled easily, slightly out of the lamplight and with Robin now underneath him on her back. His hair fell in a smooth curtain around them, her hands were everywhere on him, and his hips instinctively pressed forward once, twice, a near-insane wave of pleasure rocketing from each move –

Robin pulled away, sucking in air. Two high spots of red her in her cheeks and her eyes glittered powerfully. "Bedroom, now," she ordered in her most authoritive voice. Libra engulfed her mouth with his own, using one hand to lift her thigh so he could settle more comfortably between her legs. _Ah, this was where he needed to be_. Libra pressed his hips forward again eagerly, muffling his groan into Robin's mouth when white-hot sparks jolted through his groin.

He was rewarded by Robin as well, by the noise that was pulled from her when his pressing hips hit her _just_ right.

Robin pulled away again, this time with some difficulty. "I mean it," she breathed. "Get to bed."

Libra regarded her through his lashes, his chest clearly heaving through his open shirt. When had that happened? "And if I don't?"

Robin flipped them then, straddled atop and pressing her own hips down with just enough pressure to make Libra arch his back, his hands flailing helplessly as those beautiful, raw sensations poured through his body. He grabbed her waist and tried to hold her still, tried to get some of that delicious friction back.

Robin leaned down and kissed him again, slow and promising. She gave him a nip to his lower lip that had him struggling to flip their position again. Gods, he wanted her, didn't she know that? He needed her so badly, six months of dreams and fantasies and worst of all, memory to help all that along…

Her hand dipped below his waistband, and it was a good thing she chose that moment to kiss him because he couldn't help the scream that tore from his throat as she took him in hand. Her strokes were torturously slow, hard lances of pleasure striking down his spine with every shift and slide of her smooth hand –

She removed her hand and Libra nearly choked from the loss of contact.

"I guess we'll be here a while then," she answered silkily.

Libra stood the, catching her easily as she yelped in surprise and began to slid down his body. He set her on her feet – she never liked being carried, always thought she had going to hurt him. Hurt the man who could carry a whole fallen tree. "Bed," he agreed, and Robin almost _skipped_ towards the door, her thick coat flaring out behind her.

Something she had said in the beginning occurred to him. "Robin…what did you mean when you said they wouldn't let you leave?"

Robin glanced over her shoulder at him and ripped his breath away once more – did she truly not know how lovely she was? Her hair tinged rose gold by the lamplight, eyes dark and warm, and lips plump and reddened by their earlier ferocity. "Oh. Some of the gods. They didn't want me to leave. Well, I don't know if they can be called gods…"

Libra tried not to pass out on the spot. "What? Why?" It encompassed a lot of questions. Why wouldn't they let you leave? Why did you want to leave? Why can't they be called gods?...What did they look like?

Robin grinned cheekily and rolled her eyes. "Ohhhh, something about turning me into a constellation and placing me in the stars for all eternity so I could be immortal amongst heroes. But, y'know." Robin hands fluttered vaguely. " _Heights_. Yeeerrch. Pass, I wanted to come home."

"You…you did?" he finally managed.

Robin gave him His Smile again, leaning back languidly against the doorframe. He hoped he could paint this later, do it justice – his hero, his wife, bathed in golden lamplight and looking at him as though he was the only person in the world. "Yes. Home to you. My most beloved Libra."

"How...how did you get them to let you go?"

"Well, I…didn't give them much choice, really."

"You threatened the pantheon of Ylisse."

"Just a little, just to get my point across! And I'll have you know I was very polite to Naga."

Libra resisted the urge to laugh and slap his forehead. There were more urgent matters than his wife's apparently blasphemy to the face of the gods. "Get upstairs before the children wake up."

Robin beamed at the mention of the little ones – it was something he'd never seen her do when it came to them, and it just made everything, all that had happened in the last half hour, so much _better_. "It's good to be home."

* * *

Tadaaaaa! I really need to go pack for my flight.


End file.
